


The Warmth of Acceptance

by The_Sherlocked_Shadow



Series: Explorations and Explosions [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Before John likes the kinky stuff, Bladder shyness, Desperation, Gen, Humiliation, It's still entirely gen for now..., Omorashi, Paruresis, Squick, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sherlocked_Shadow/pseuds/The_Sherlocked_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shy bladder syndrome is a stupid thing for someone who has a piss kink.</p><p>Can be read as a part of Accidental Reactions, but not necessary, as it starts a new series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warmth of Acceptance

This was a predictament.

He and John had been flying to Canada for a case. Normally, Sherlock wouldn't have bothered to invite John, but it might include a few days of investigation and John suggested that they go on holiday while they were at it.

They were twenty minutes to their destination when Sherlock couldn't handle sitting still any longer. He shifted his weight, crossing his legs. Twenty more minutes to landing, plus the added minutes for his luggage... He shifted his hips, scooting back in his seat.

"The seatbelt light isn't on."

Sherlock looked at John. "What?"

"Well, you don't squirm unless you really need the loo, so," John said, sounding uninterested, licking his thumb to turn the page of a magazine he was reading.

"I'm fine," Sherlock replied automatically.

"Whatever. Have you seen this?" John asked, leaning over to show Sherlock an article on some celebrity.

" _Why_ would I know this?" Sherlock asked, frowning in annoyance. He started to bounce his knee. "You know that I don't concern myself with trivia."

John looked up again. "Sherlock, _please_ , go to the bathroom."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "I am fine."

"I know you try to forget that you're _human_ , but you have your limits and pushing yourself to them all the time isn't healthy!"

Sherlock muttered something under his breath, feeling abashed.

"What?"

"I _said_ , I don't use public toilets."

John looked perplexed. "Eh?"

Sherlock rolled his hips. "I don't use public toilets, John. Must it be stated any more plainly?"

"Why not?" John put his magazine down. "You? Who doesn't care what people think at all? Why not?"

Sherlock didn't answer immediately. He had never had this conversation with anyone, mainly because he had never _had_ anyone to have it with. Not that it was important.

"I just don't."

"That's stupid," John said. "So you won't at the airport, either?"

Sherlock shook his head slightly, opting not to think about it. It was too painful to think about.

"What-" John sighed. "Why don't you use public toilets?"

"I can't," Sherlock replied in a clipped tone.

"You _can't_? Why not?"

This was a lot more awkward than he thought talking it might be. Although, he had never thought about talking about it before.

Paruresis.

It was a weird thing for someone who had a (mild) piss kink.

"I just can't."

"Sherlock-"

Sherlock held up a hand to signal for John to stop talking. He didn't want to talk about this, let alone right now when he needed the loo.

John stared for a moment before picking up his magazine again.

Sherlock managed to contain most of his squirming, only shifting position a few more times before their plane touched down. His stomach, however, was hurting him terribly. He managed to get to his feet gracefully enough, although standing still was hardly an option. He shifted his weight from foot to foot impatiently, rolling his hips and gnawing his lip.

"Sherlock. Just go to the toilet," John said, watching Sherlock squirm as they waited on their luggage. "I'll wait here, just go."

"Can't," Sherlock bit off.

"Sherlock-"

"John, I really can't."

John's eyebrows knitted together, something like concern finally reaching his eyes. He took a step closer, looking closely at his desperate flatmate. "Sherlock, what's your reasoning behind this?" he asked quietly. "Really, just tell me. I don't think this is your normal push-yourself-to-the-limits nonsense... So, what is it?"

"I can't..." Sherlock mumbled.

"You keep saying that. Why can't you?"

"I just..." Sherlock trailed off, bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly. "I _can't_. It's not possible. I..." He licked his lips. "I freeze up."

John blinked slowly. "You freeze up? What does- _oh_..." he trailed off, recognition lighting his voice. "Oh. You- What about in a cubicle, not the urinal?"

Sherlock shook his head slightly. "Not with other people around."

He didn't know why they were having this discussion, in the middle of the airport, in a queue for their luggage. Or much less why he was still having it when he was anxiously awaiting the moment when he could tuck himself safely into their hotel and use the toilet, even if he knew that moment wouldn't come soon enough. They still had a thirty minute drive to the hotel.

"Do-" John stopped. "W-Well, you..." He sounded like he didn't know what he was trying to say.

Sherlock took a deep breath that hurt. "John, can you get my luggage?" he asked as steadily as he could.

He needed to get out of this packed airport. He was still squirming and he knew he was reaching his limit where he would end up doubled over in pain. Standing still in line wasn't helping. He needed to be sitting down.

John looked at him again. "Yeah. Why?"

"I'm going to the car," he said, turning and striding out of the line without another word.

Walking hurt, but he was focussed on the relief that was the privacy of their own car. Not that it would help him very much, but at least he could hold himself openly without worrying about the strange looks that he would recieve, because not going to the toilet when needed was a bit not good.

He unlocked the car with shaking hands and threw himself into the passenger seat, sighing shakily as his hand fumbled to the button on his trousers. When unbuttoned, the relief was minute but it helped. He rubbed himself tensely, muttering under his breath. He didn't know what to do. It was another moment of strange contradiction; as much as he wanted to go to the toilet, there was no chance without embarrassing himself.

John joined him after a few, tense minutes. He had no more than slammed the door before turning to Sherlock. "Okay, what are you going to do. You cannot wait until we get to the hotel. You're going to give yourself an infection."

Sherlock grunted, laughing humourlessly. "Do you want me to piss myself, John?"

John flushed. "No, I don't _want_ you to, but you have to do something."

Sherlock kneaded his fingers against himself unconsciously, noting that John's eyes caught the movement. John blushed even further, raising his chin.

"Okay. You're clearly in a state. Well-"

"Drive, John."

"You aren't going to make it to the hotel!"

Sherlock winced. "I know! Just drive!"

John looked worried, but he did turn to the steering wheel.

They drove in tense silence for about five minutes. It was after that point that Sherlock felt tears spring to his eyes at a particularly painful cramp. A slight groan passed his lips as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the dashboard.

He didn't know why he was embarrassed about letting go. John wouldn't be disgusted, because he was just worried now. He just- ugh. This was meant for himself, the finding-pleasure-in-pissing lark. In public, it was just frightening and humiliating.

John's hand suddenly descended onto his back. Sherlock jumped and lost control, a gush of urine jetting into his pants. The warmth was pleasure-pain and his bladder contracted, trying to force the ocean of urine out. Oh, he _wanted_...

"John!" he gasped, squirming to the edge of his seat.

"Sherlock, just let it go!" John said. "Just let go, I won't care, please."

This was almost like Sherlock's fantasies, although slightly different. John usually didn't sound so worried in his fantasies. John was just so... understanding.

Tears started to roll down Sherlock's cheeks.

"Sherlock," John started again, sounding... well, Sherlock didn't even know what he sounded like.

He was too busy unclasping one of his hands from between his thighs to rub his tears away. The motion must have been obvious, because John sucked in a breath next to him.

"Are you crying? Sherlock, you're crying. Just relax!"

Sherlock sat up suddenly. "John, pull over!"

John looked at him sharply. "What?"

"Pull over, please, John, now," he muttered. "Please."

John blinked quickly and looked back at the road. They were in the countryside at this point, so pulling over to the side only took a few seconds.

John stopped the car and put it in park, twisting in his seat to look at Sherlock. "Sherlock, stop this. Just stop it."

When Sherlock didn't respond, John slammed his fist against the dashboard.

"Damn it, Sherlock!"

The exclamation with the snapping noise scared the piss out of Sherlock... quite literally. More tears clustered against his eyelashes and spilled down his cheeks. He was going to completely piss himself in a few seconds... and he didn't even want to. The car would smell like piss and this was _Mycroft's_ loaned car and...

A rush of cold air made Sherlock look up, realizing that his car door was open. John reached in- when had he gotten out of the car?- and hooked his arms under Sherlock's, all but dragging him out of the car.

Sherlock's feet had barely hit the ground when gravity took over in his fight to rebel about his body's need. Heat flooded his groin and quickly spread, although it was barely noticeable over the sudden relief. He felt faint and his legs felt weak; he slumped sideways against John as he finally, _finally_ , got to piss.

The warmth was rushing against his groin, travelling in first small trickles and then winding rivers down his legs. It soaked into his trousers, making the fabric warm and wet and heavy. Wetness seeped into his socks, splashing onto the pristine surface of his shoes. It was so disgusting but such a turn-on and _fuck_ , it felt so _good_ -

Sherlock groaned in the back of his throat, closing his eyes.

"You're alright..." John murmured, pressing soothing circles into Sherlock's shoulder with his fingers. "It's okay."

Sherlock took a deep breath, squirming slightly as his stream trickled off, jetted forcefully once more, and finally edged to a slow drip.

He was a mess.

He felt unhinged, laid bare. His trousers were utterly soaked. The black fabric was glistening, there were splashes on his black shoes. The dirt beneath his feet was dark and wet from his spilled-over piss and, as he shifted his weight, it squelched under his feet in his shoes.

"Better?" John asked after a moment.

It took Sherlock a few seconds to properly build a response, in which he nodded curtly. His face was hot. Humiliation was pooled into his stomach, hanging over his form that now screamed _two year old!_ rather than _consulting detective_.

"Good," John said forcefully, sounding pleased.

Sherlock chanced a shy glance at him. John didn't look disgusted, moreover focussed, and just a little bit sympathising.

That was good. That was very good. John was good.

Sherlock shifted his weight again, shivering briefly as the cold wind cooled down his piss-laden trousers faster, as the exhaustion of the holding and the humiliation of the wetting weighed heavily on his mind. It wasn't a thoroughly terrible situation... it was quite... interesting... to say the least, but Sherlock's entire being was tired from the extensive workout. He needed rest, both mentally and physically.

"So, this might be a bit unorthodox, but, I don't care," John said, walking to the boot of the car. "I packed a blanket and you have other trousers, so..." John reappeared with a blanket and a fresh pair of black trousers. "You've got cover with the trees over there, so get yourself cleaned up a bit and change? It's a bit difficult to change in the car..."

Sherlock nodded, hesitantly taking the lump of fabric from John. "Thank you..." he murmured clumsily, his tongue feeling strange and heavy against the sincerely grateful words.

"Happens to everyone," John replied automatically, granting him a strained smile. The worry was still visible in his eyes. "Hurry up. You don't want to catch cold."

Sherlock nodded again and stumbled towards the tree-line.

It took him all of ten seconds to shuck his soaking trousers off and another ten to dry off with the blanket. He was shaking and he wanted to get back to the car... He was exhausted and felt as though his legs weren't going to stand up for much longer. He clumsily stepped into the dry pair of trousers and put his shoes on, hands shaking as he tied the shoestrings.

When he returned to the car, collapsed onto the seat, John already had the ignition on and the heat was blasting. Sherlock, shivering visibly now, sighed in pleasure when he climbed into the warm car.

They didn't share a word about the earlier scene. John just nodded to himself, put the car in drive, and they were on the road again.

Still, when they shared a glance over their teacups later that night, Sherlock tried to convey his gratitude for the situation in the look.

He couldn't express how prudent it had been for John _not_ be disgusted or angry with him... and he hadn't. Like a good friend, John just helped him through it. Sherlock was genuinely grateful.

John nodded slightly before taking a drink of his tea.

Sherlock smiled and took a drink of his as well.

**Author's Note:**

> No real non-gen stuff yet. I promise it's on its way.
> 
> Confession: I don't ship Johnlock. At all. I tolerate it for the sake of most fanfiction is Johnlock, but, you know, to each their own. 
> 
> THAT BEING SAID. I started writing watersports and I'm like... this can't be entirely gen and still be watersports so I've got to work Johnlock into it.
> 
> I promise that Johnlock is on its way.


End file.
